


Sizzling Water

by GiouYomi



Series: The Wilderness in Us [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Spirits, Anbu Hatake Kakashi, Angst, Angst and Humor, BAMF Umino Iruka, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Baggage, Happy Ending, Mother Hen Shiranui Genma, Multi, sassy Iruka
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-01 14:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15145205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GiouYomi/pseuds/GiouYomi
Summary: The Hatake clan is all but dead, its name forgotten and lost to the devastation of time and endless wars. It doesn’t mean much anymore, even to Kakashi, who only remembers a dead father and the sour stench of loneliness and grief. But there’s a young man who smells like the ocean, sweet and warm, and Kakashi might not have a home anymore but he knows that he’spack.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Kishimoto-sensei in any way, shape or form.  
> A/N: Because Blackkat is the queen of shipping and plot bunnies. Also, the next chapter shouldn't take too long, since I have nothing else to do this week.  
> Update: I corrected a few typos. I missed a few when I was editing last night (oops)

Kakashi flops face down on his bed and doesn’t move for a whole minute.

He will have to wash the sheets tomorrow, he realizes belatedly. The kunai wounds on his stomach are still bleeding sluggishly, probably soaking into his blanket. Washing out the stains is going to be a pain, but he’s currently too tired to bring himself to care.

The mission wasn’t even a hard one. Or at least, it wasn’t supposed to be. He was so over-qualified for it, it isn’t even funny. The only reason he got it is because the scroll he had to deliver contained sensitive information that only a handful of Chunins have the clearance to handle, and the squad who usually takes care of these missions is stuck in the hospital.

But then, just like most B-ranked courier missions have the tendency to be, it went downhill so fast he couldn’t even alert nearby Konoha nins on patrol. He was barely six miles west of the village, with at least three teams of friendly shinobi he could sense, and he couldn’t do anything. Just thinking about it makes a frustrated growl rumble in his chest.

He had already delivered the scroll and was on his way back to Konoha when he ran into an infiltrating group of Iwa shinobi. It was just their luck that they had a mildly competent sensor who alerted their team of his presence. He would’ve let an ANBU team deal with them, but before he could call anyone they decided that it would be fun to mess with a Konoha nin.

They thought that he would be easy because he was alone.

So Kakashi, already irritated and exhausted from running all the way to Suna and back, showed them just how wrong they were. But of course, the Iwa nin _had_ to be a team of Jonins waiting to intercept an important mission ordered by Fire Country’s daimyo. He just had to be _that_ lucky.

As an ANBU operative himself, although not on duty, he obviously couldn’t ignore that. He had hoped to capture them for interrogation, but they were stronger than he’d thought and in the end, he didn’t have any other choice but to kill them.

T&I will probably chew him out for that later, but frankly, he wasn’t about to try to knock out three Iwa Jonins on his own, and backup would’ve taken too long to reach him to be of any use.

If he was honest with himself, he could have summoned his nin-dogs, made a few clones, and handled them just as effectively. He wouldn’t be ANBU if he gave up because of stacked odds. But they were entirely too smug and too skilled, and Kakashi thinks about what would’ve happened if it wasn’t him they ran into, if it was the Chunin squad who was supposed to deliver the scroll instead.

It makes his hackles raise, makes him want to bare his teeth and snarl behind his mask, and he only just refrained from tearing out their throats with his bare hands. Still, he was just as merciless with them as they would’ve been with him had he been any weaker, so he doesn’t feel any remorse at having killed them.

It’s unlike him to break protocol like that, it’s true, but there’s enough fury in him that his actions feel completely justified. But Kakashi is nothing if efficient, so he made sure to keep one alive long enough to interrogate them. After all, though he isn’t a Yamanaka, the Sharingan still works wonders for intimidating people into submission.

At least his mission has been upgraded to an A-rank for all his troubles.

Kakashi turned onto his back with a pained groan. The gash on his thigh needs to be bandaged, having already been stitched up after the fight, but he doubts he’s about to bleed out anytime soon. He has already reported to the Hokage, so that’s one thing less to worry about. There’s only the required paperwork he needs to fill out and hand in at the mission desk.

All that can wait until tomorrow, Kakashi decides.

With that resolution, he falls into a dreamless sleep. 

* * *

 He wakes up with a scream at the back of his throat and a kunai in his hand.

The room is oddly bright, every shape highlighted with sharp clarity. It’s only when his head swims and the room tilts sideways as he sits up that he feels the drain on his chakra.

Kakashi promptly covers his Sharingan with a hand. He can’t quite bring himself to release the grip he has on his kunai, so he carefully lays his hand on the bed where he’s less likely to stab himself and leans back on it.

He inhales deeply, but his breath still comes out in short, panicked gasps, his heart beating heavily in his chest.

There’s ash on his tongue. The sour tang of smoke slides down his throat and fills up his lungs. He swallows a cough, but he trembles at the effort. Sweat runs down his back and makes his clothes stick to his skin. The night chill raises goosebumps on his exposed arms.

He feels confined. Stretched too thin over his bones. The monster in his head rears its ugly head again, devouring him from the inside. His chest is tight with an old, familiar pain. It extends, its roots climbing over his ribs to his stomach, up his spine and down his legs. His head feels heavy, his neck aching with the strain of staying upright, so he brings his legs up and curls into himself, pressing his forehead to his knees.

_Weak_ , Kakashi thinks. Pathetic, really, to still be plagued by the same nightmares years after his teammates’ deaths. They’re rarely coherent, more flashes of memories and delirious hallucinations stringed together than actual dreams, but they make something stir inside him. It’s nothing ground-breaking, nothing earth-shattering, but rather like a needle slowly picking him apart at the seams.

It _hurts_ , in a primal, instinctual way, and Kakashi cannot explain any of it, can barely understand it as it is. Because while other shinobi tear and fracture, Kakashi shatters and glues himself back together. He loses pieces along the way, small and big and sharp enough to cut, and he has yet to learn how to fill the holes like others do.

He draws in a shuddering breath. It’s not the time to wallow in self-pity, especially when the village is short-handed. He can’t afford to not be at his best.

Despite his reputation, Kakashi has never been good at categorization. He can’t separate emotions from duty, not fully at least, and while he isn’t particularly sentimental his mood always ends up bleeding through his numerous masks. It’s subtle, and there are perhaps three people other than the Hokage who can pick up on it, but that’s already three too many.

Kakashi sighs, wills his heart to calm down, and rolls out of bed. He dresses quickly, changing out of his ANBU attire and into his standard Jonin uniform, pulls up his face mask, and silently hops out of his window. He lands on the narrow windowsill and double-checks his traps, then jumps down to the street two floors below.

He starts walking toward the nearest shinobi bar. After all, a hangover is easier to deal with than the ghosts constantly dogging his steps.

Under the moonlight, Kakashi allows himself to shift He hides under his skin, compresses what little is left of _Kakashi_ into practically nothing and locks it away. Makes it so that he’s unreachable, so that nothing can hurt him anymore.

Peel away the mask, wipe away the man, turn him inside out, and all that’s left is a monster.

The bouncer at the door lets him in with a nod. At this point, it’s pretty much a formality. _Old enough to kill, old enough to drink_ , and age simply stops mattering when the average lifespan of a ninja is 30.

Inside, the room is dimly lit in soft yellow light, the walls painted in earthy tones. There are a few full tables despite the odd hour, bottles and cups on every single of them. A group of Jonins are occupying the couches in a corner, immersed in what looks to be a game of poker. He thinks he recognizes a few of them, but he’s in no mood to socialize. Instead, he heads directly for the bar, giving everyone a wide berth.

He plops down on one of the stools and leans forward, crossing his hands and resting his chin on them. He makes sure to adopt his usual carefree expression before he waves at the bartender.

Sayako-san comes over with a glass and a towel in hand. “Back again, Kakashi?”

“Maa, don’t say it like that, Sayako-san. It sounds like I come here every day, though I certainly wouldn’t mind doing so,” he purred.

Sayako snorts loudly. “You’re two decades too young to even think of attempting that with me, Kakashi. I’ve seen you as a toddler. So, what brings you here today?”

He narrows his eye as if smiling. “A man can always try, Sayako-san.” She gives him a knowing stare but doesn’t comment on how he dodged her question.

“The usual, then.” She turns around and reaches for a bottle on the top shelf, setting it down in front of him with a small cup.

Kakashi catches a whiff of the content and blinks. It’s decidedly not the plum sake he typically asks for.

“Don’t give me that look, Hatake. You’re going to need something heavier than that sweet and expensive bullshit you’re so fond of if you want to sleep anytime soon.”

Picking up the bottle, Kakashi takes a small sip and swirls it around his mouth. It’s not too bad, the smell a bit pungent for his taste, but the alcohol burns pleasantly as it slides down his throat.

“You spoil me, Sayako-san.”

“Don’t expect it to happen again,” she states gruffly, then turns around, dodges under a stray kunai, yells obscenities at the Chunin who threw it, and goes back to washing and drying glasses.

Kakashi properly pours the sake into his cup and sets the bottle down. He wants to drink himself into oblivion and is way past the point of caring about manners, but Sayako-san will reprimand him and the woman is _terrifying_ when she’s serious. She has nerves of steel, developed through years of dealing with unruly, drunk shinobi who can’t tell the difference between the handle and the sharp end of a kunai. For some reason, for as long as he can remember, she’s always had a soft spot for Kakashi.

Perhaps it’s because she’s known him since he was fourteen, angry and lonely, still a teenager yet having witnessed more bloodshed than many twice his age will ever do. Or perhaps it’s because she knew his father, fought at his sides until a nasty lightning jutsu fried her chakra pathways and forced her into early retirement. But Kakashi doesn’t dwell on these thoughts, because even now, thinking about Sakumo brings a sour taste to his mouth.

The first cup makes his throat itch. The second one goes down smoother, and by the fourth, his head is delightfully empty. He has a decent tolerance to alcohol, but he’s never been a heavy drinker, and downing four cups in the span of maybe twenty minutes isn’t doing his body any favours. He’s already tipsy, well on his way to drunk, but he can’t bring himself to care.

It’s what he came here for, after all.

Before he could reach for the bottle for a fifth time, something heavy settles on the stool on his right. He almost reaches for his weapon pouch, but their chakra feels familiar, not enough to be recognized on the spot but close to non-threatening, so Kakashi wills his muscles into some semblance of bored relaxation.

He doesn’t feel like talking to anybody yet, but he can live with a silent companion, uninvited they may be.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Kakashi starts cursing whatever gods there are to hell and back because of course the one person who decides to stick with him on a night like this is _Genma_. Silent, calculating, sharp-as-a-knife Genma, who also happens to be his superior, an absolute asshole and the village’s resident _gossip queen_. Konoha’s entire Jonin population are also unrepentant gossips who spread rumours faster than even _civilians_.

He’s never going to live it down if Genma catches him getting shit-faced. Which is what he’s currently doing.

This day, or rather this past week, really can’t get any worse. Kakashi lets his head drop onto the table and groans. Genma has the audacity to chuckle.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Kakashi? Did the old lady next door ask you to carry her groceries again? Or did that beauty at the mission desk finally proposition you? Kurenai, was it? Heard she’s wicked with a sword, if you catch my drift.”

Kakashi looks up at the ceiling and doesn’t bother to hide his annoyed grunt. “For the thousandth time, Genma, I’m not interested in her. Neither is she. Kurenai spends all her time making cow eyes at Sarutobi. _Asuma_. And no, before you say anything, it doesn’t mean that I’m after someone else. I’m just not looking for a relationship. Any kind of relationship. Period.” His rant done, Kakashi convinces his somewhat noodle-like arm to pour himself another cup of sake.

Genma hums thoughtfully. His senbon clinks on his teeth. “Then I guess it isn’t your elderly neighbour after all. You just came back from a mission, didn’t you?”

Honestly, Kakashi has known since the very beginning that there was no way he could talk his way out of this. Genma is perceptive, there’s no denying that, but he also keeps to himself, especially when he knows that his presence is not welcomed. So for him to reach out like this, he must be pretty serious. If it were anyone else, Kakashi would’ve pegged it as simply looking out for a comrade and left it at that. But this is Genma, who knows and understands all of Kakashi’s pain because he was right there with him to experience most of it, and it makes something inside him shift at the knowledge that he cares.

“Yeah,” Kakashi signs into his cup. “But if you’re going to ask if something’s wrong, save your breath. I’m fine.”

“Is that so.” The older shinobi shifts his senbon to the other side of his mouth with a flicker of his tongue. “Well, I just came to see if you wanted to join us. I thought that, considering what you’re currently drinking,” Genma pulls a face, “you could use the company.”

Considerate, Kakashi tells himself. Kind, and it isn’t surprising, because even as an ANBU Genma has always put others before himself. Aoba often jokes that he’s a mother-hen, would laugh at him and make ridiculous chicken noises, and while Kakashi wouldn’t go there he can see the resemblance.

It’s also startlingly similar to someone else, he muses. Minato-sensei has never been able to hide his protective streak either, and it isn’t too far of a stretch to think that Genma picked it up from him. They certainly spent enough time together for habits to carry over, and with Genma shadowing Minato as his guard after he became Hokage, sticking to his side like Kakashi couldn’t, it makes sense that he adopted the Yondaime’s ideals as well.

It’s ironic how, in the end, the Yellow Flash’s guards took after him more than his own students. Maybe, if they had lived, Rin and Obito would’ve carried on his legacy. But Fate dictated that out of the three of them only Kakashi survived, and as always, he’s nothing but a disappointment.

That thought is a tad too bitter and depressing, and Kakashi knows that if he doesn’t stop himself right there he’s only going to bury himself deeper in his self-deprecating mindset. He downs the sake he just poured in one go, swallows a cough, and sets it back down with a clunk.

“Ran into a couple of Iwa nins on my way back,” he admits. Genma gives him a calculating look.

“The kind who hold old grudges? Those are always fun to deal with.” He waves Sayako over with a smile and she sets down a beer in front of him.

Kakashi snorts. “Not this time. Just a bunch of arrogant Jonins who thought they could take a Konoha nin easily. Three on one and all that.”

“And they didn’t expect you,” Genma states, amused.

“No, they didn’t.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence. Genma sips on his beer and Kakashi waits for his head to stop spinning. He’s here to get drunk, but he’s not stupid. Fainting at the bar is the last thing he wants with Genma beside him.

When he deems he has stared into his cup long enough, he turns his head to look at his companion. Genma looks right back at him with a quirked eyebrow.

“Is there something on my face? Or am I just that irresistible?”

“Keep telling yourself that, Shiranui, and Raidou might be tricked into giving you a kiss out of pity. Though with your ugly mug I doubt he’ll be inclined to do so anytime soon.”

“Hey, I resent that!” Genma exclaims. “I’ll have you know that my mug is very popular, thank you very much! And what happens between Raidou and me is none of your business, you dirty, manipulative, filth-”

“Just cut the crap, Genma. What are you here for?”

The man sniffs. “And here I was, trying to be a good friend. Friendship is underrated these days, I tell you.”

“Genma.” Kakashi doesn’t snap, but his tone translates his annoyance clearly.

Genma quiets. He takes another sip of his beer, somehow managing to keep his senbon in his mouth without swallowing it or stabbing himself, his face contemplative.

“Have you been to the mission desk lately?” He asks. Kakashi blinks at the unusual question.

“It’s been two weeks. I reported directly to the Hokage when I came back, though I’ll have to drop by tomorrow to hand in my report. Why?”

“Well, you’ll see for yourself soon then.” With that, Genma slides down from his stool, flashes him an impish grin, and saunters off to his friends, a raucous bunch of Tokubetsu Jonin and Chunin sitting halfway across the bar.

Kakashi doesn’t even bother gathering enough brain cells to be confused about that last statement. Turning his attention back to his empty cup, he goes to pour himself some more sake, only to discover that the bottle is empty. When he looks up to Sayako-san, she’s giving him the look that means that he probably won’t be getting any alcohol from her for the foreseeable future.

Kakashi sighs and goes back to staring drunkenly into his cup.

For some reason, he’s already dreading the next day. 

* * *

 The Hokage Tower is uncharacteristically silent. There’s usually a handful of frazzled Chunins running around, clutching scrolls and stacks of papers nearly as tall as they are and passing on messages or summons. Today, however, the halls are empty except for the few hidden ANBU Kakashi can sense.

Shrugging off the uneasiness he feels, Kakashi heads directly to the mission room. It’s probably unimportant anyway, or else he would’ve been alerted already. Probably a minor incident, like a previously undiscovered stack of paperwork or something of that sort. For a moment Genma’s cryptic words from the previous night resurface in his mind, but Kakashi dismisses the thought quickly. Kakashi has never given much importance to rumours and never will.

But he’s also curious by nature, so it’s with a small spring in his steps that he pushes open the door leading to the mission room.

Instantly, Kakashi is assaulted by noise. His sensitive ears ring with the sound of dozens and dozens of people talking, arguing, one yelling louder than the other to be heard above the cacophony.

Lightheaded and a bit disoriented, with the remnants of a headache pounding at the back of his head, Kakashi considers escaping from the madness for a second. But a few pairs of eyes have already turned towards him, seeking out the newest arrival, so he squares his shoulders and steps forward, closing the door behind him.

It’s a small comfort that the Chuunin manning the mission desk all look long-suffering, wearing identical expressions of resigned weariness. Kakashi can sympathize. Shinobis are a rowdy bunch in general, but Jonins tend to be on the more unhinged end of the craziness spectrum.

The thing is, all Jonins avoid the mission room as much as possible. They only visit it if they have no other viable option because they all have a healthy dislike of anything related to paperwork. Mission reports are an absolute pain, especially when coupled with annoyingly naggy Chunins, but they’re a necessary evil if they want to go outside of Konoha. Yet, it doesn’t mean that Jonins would ever agree to do them properly.

Instead, to protest the unfairness of having to deal with paperwork, they try their hardest to find all the creative ways to hand in a document and still piss off the paper pusher ninjas and the Hokage in one go. Tactics such as writing unnecessarily long reports, accidentally spilling various substances onto the papers, and constantly misplacing paperwork are common.

So, Kakashi is understandably confused upon noticing that almost every single Jonin currently not on a mission can be found in the room. He’s even more puzzled to see that only a small portion of them are in line in front of the mission desk. Most of the shinobi are scattered around the room, huddled in small groups, either whispering furiously or openly staring at one weirdly uncrowded corner of the room. They’re not even trying to be subtle about it, and a small part of Kakashi scoffs at the how unprofessional they were.

Something exceptional must have happened to attract so many high-ranking ninjas in a place they spent most of their time running away from. Interest piqued, Kakashi silently walks to a calmer spot and leaned on the wall. He pulls out a book from his breast pocket and flips it open.

A kunoichi spots the bright orange cover and scowls at him. He shots her his most innocent look, then turns his attention back to a very captivating passage on the many uses of spoons in a dangerous situation. He certainly never knew that it could fit _there_ without killing someone. It’s a bit of a morbid read, but this kind of knowledge can come in useful at the most unpredictable times. The kunoichi rolls her eyes at him and turns away.

Kakashi hides a small smile behind the pages. Sliding Icha Icha’s orange sleeve onto another book of roughly the same size is a simple task, and it is very effective in driving others away. People avoid him because all they see is a pervert, and that suits Kakashi just fine.

It’s certainly better than to be feared in his own village. _Murderer. Friend-killer. Ruthless shinobi._ Whispers that he’s all too familiar with.

When he looks up again, a few shinobi have shifted enough that he could see a little of the thing that has been drawing so much attention. A high ponytail, thick, brown hair, and a standard Konoha hitai-ate. A person, Kakashi realizes.

Just as he is about to take another peek, an older Jonin walks up to the unknown shinobi and blocks his line of sight. This seems to spook the shinobi nearby because they all back up at least five steps and collectively place a hand on their weapon pouch. Kakashi feels his brow slide towards his hairline.

Their behaviour obviously gives the Jonin pause because his steps falter, but he visibly shakes off his hesitation and continues heading for the mysterious shinobi behind the mission desk.

As for himself, Kakashi really can’t understand why this ninja, a Chunin by the look of things, is so fascinating. A new paper pusher hardly warrants such attention from Jonins, but he’ll refrain from making any judgements too early.

Kakashi inconspicuously shifts closer, makes an effort to appear like he’s immersed in his book, and prepares himself to observe the interaction.

Matsuoka-san, the Jonin, has been on several missions with Kakashi. He’s older by a few years, and is generally friendly, if a bit cocky and too sure of his abilities. The man stops in front of the desk, and the brown-haired Chunin tilts his head up to greet him with a smile.

The room quiets.

They exchange polite greetings. Matsuoka pulls out a few crumpled papers from his pant pocket and makes a show of unfolding them badly before handing them to the Chunin. The ninja’s smile grows a bit strained but stays in place as he gracefully accepts the bundle. He smooths out the paper on the desk before he picks them up and starts reading.

Usually, Chunins take a look at a report, deem it passably legible, and stamp their approval without much fuss. They rarely, if ever, ask any questions. But this Chunin is particularly meticulous, flipping through each page like he’s actually speed reading the entire thing. As the silence stretches on, only interrupted by the sound of crinkling paper, Matsuoka starts showing visible signs of impatience.

His feet shift, restless, and he picks at the zipper of his Jonin vest. His gaze sweeps across the room, from left to right then back, and he turns his head to peer out of the large windows of the mission room. A few moments later, he looks back at the Chunin, who hasn’t uttered a single word.

The tension in the room is almost palpable. Suddenly, the Chunin growls and frowns at the report he’s holding. Matsuoka blinked, then raises an eyebrow at the shinobi.

“Is there anything wrong?”

The Chunin directs his frown at the Jonin. “Matsuoka-san, is it?”

Matsuoka nods.

“Well, I’m sorry to inform you that I cannot accept your report.”

Kakashi jolts. His book lowers a little. The shinobi around him all display various degrees of incredulity. They have never witnessed a desk ninja refusing a report, no matter how bad it is. Some Jonin has even handed in a report hastily scribbled on napkins once, and the Chunin at the mission desk only shot him an annoyed glance before placing it in the stack of papers at his side.

Matsuoka has a similar reaction. He considers the Chunin for a moment before scowling. “What do you mean, you can’t accept it?”

The brown-haired Chunin bites his lower lip. “You were expected to hand this in a week ago, Matsuoka-san. It is clearly written, and all the information is there, but I cannot accept it. According to regulations, you have to re-write it and give it to me in two days’ time.”

The Jonin scoffs. “It’s only a little wrinkled. I’m sure the Hokage won’t mind it.”

“That’s not the problem, Matsuoka-san,” the Chunin retorts. “It could certainly be neater, and Hokage-sama’s secretary would probably appreciate not having to iron your report before putting it in your file. However, the rules dictate that you can’t exceed the deadline by more than a day, and you’re more than seven days late. As such, the information in the report might not be entirely accurate, which is why writing a new one is preferable.”

Shock ripples through the room. The Chunin talked back to a Jonin with such calm, it was as if he was reprimanding a child. Matsuoka certainly didn’t appreciate this, because he puffed up like an offended cat.

“Are you questioning my abilities, _Chunin_?” He hissed, stressing the shinobi’s rank.

He was answered with a smile, all faked innocence and concealed sharpness. “Hardly, _Jonin-san_. I’m simply doing my job.”

Kakashi swallows a chortle. Another Jounin coughs. Clearly offended, Matsuoka slams his hands on the table and bows down, glaring at the Chunin.

“If you think you’re funny, then you’re severely mistaken. I’m a Jonin, and I don’t have any time to waste with the likes of _you_. Just accept the goddamn report, and stop being so difficult.”

The Chunin next to them raises his hands in an appeasing gesture. “Ah, Jonin-sama, I’m sure Iruka didn’t mean it, right, Iruka? I apologize for his rudeness, he’s new and he’s not used to this yet, and-”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Matsuoka growls. Several Jonins in the audience tense at the aggression in his voice. “This is between him and me, got it? Now, _Iruka_ , just accept the report, and there won’t be any _further problems_.”

The Chunin, Iruka, gives him an unimpressed look.

Matsuoka snarls and lunges forward. Iruka’s chair scrapes against the floor. Several shouts echo across the room as Jonins reach for their weapon pouch, preparing to break up the fight. Iruka scrambles backwards, jumping out of the way right before Matsuoka leaps over the desk and crashes into his chair.

The older shinobi lets out a wordless sound of rage and pulls out a kunai from his sleeve. Iruka’s eyes widen, his hand already reaching for a weapon, but Matsuoka is faster. He dashes towards the Chunin, who only has time to bring up his arms, preparing to receive the blow.

“Maa, there’s no need to be so violent, Matsuoka-san.”

A hand grabs the Jonin’s wrist and halts his charge. The hand twists viciously, and Matsuoka drops his kunai with a quiet gasp.

“You are making quite a commotion, don’t you think? I’d hate to disturb the Hokage when he’s busy.”

The Jonin turns to him, glare in place and an angry reply on his lips, but pales dramatically when he sees his face.

Kakashi smiles. “Well, I’m sure that Hokage-sama will be lenient. Of course, if you stop now, I won’t have to alert him, and there won’t be any…further problems. Don’t you agree, _Jonin-san_?”

The arm in his grasp trembles a little. Kakashi only feels a little vindictive when he whispers in the other’s ear, “I suggest that you keep your head down for a little while, Matsuoka-san. Otherwise, I will have to pay you a little visit, and we don’t want that, do we?”

The man nods frantically. With another beatific smile, Kakashi squeezes down on his wrist until the Jonin gasps in pain, then lets go.

Matsuoka scrambles up to his feet, grabs his report, then promptly shunshins away.

Iruka is staring at him. The whole room is staring at him. Kakashi sends his fellow Jonins a cheerful wave. There are a few muttered grumbles, but they eventually turn away, pretending to go back to their own business, not that they had anything else to do here.

“Are you alright, Iruka-san?”

The Chunin blinks owlishly. His hair is coming loose of his ponytail, Kakashi notes. This close, he can see the flush rising in Iruka’s cheeks, the few freckles across his nose, and the warm honey of his eyes. The scar on his face only adds to his boyish charm. The man, just out of his teenage years, looks adorably disheveled, and it’s only a little bit endearing.

“Ah, um, thank you for helping me, Jonin-san.” He almost stutters. The tip of his ears is pink. Someone coos in the background.

“Don’t worry about it, Iruka-san. He shouldn’t have attacked a fellow Konoha shinobi. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Iruka-san. Oh! I almost forgot. Here’s my report. I have to go though, so have a good day.” With that, Kakashi all but shoves his papers at the baffled Chunin, takes a few hurried steps back, and launches himself out of the opened window.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It grew a plot. Oops. Also, if it continues like this I might just have to add a slow burn tag.

Kakashi runs through Konoha as if there was a pack of hellhounds biting at his heels. He almost loses control of his chakra a few times, dislodging roof tiles here and there, but he doesn’t stop. He reaches his apartment building in a matter of minutes, and he almost dives head-first into his window. As it is, he barely stops himself before impact, balancing precariously on his windowsill while he disarms the traps with a few practiced but jerky hand seals.

He pries open his window and slams it shut behind him. He hurriedly replaces the traps, adding on another layer of seals and genjutsus on top of the alarm seals and exploding tags already in place. He doesn’t want anyone to disturb him, not when he’s like this, and his escape from the mission room as well as his mad dash across the village have probably already drawn more attention than he’s willing to deal with.

Rationally, he’s aware that almost no one in Konoha knows where he lives. The Hokage will never seek him out personally, Gai is on a mission and won’t be back for a few days, and the ANBU commander is perpetually occupied. That leaves Genma, but the shinobi knows him too well and understands that Kakashi needs some solitude from time to time.

But Kakashi isn’t thinking rationally, not when he’s practically swallowing air, fingers growing numb and legs trembling from the strain of too much chakra flowing into recently closed wounds. Even now it’s raging inside him, wild and almost feral, swirling and crashing through him like a thunderstorm.

Here, in his room, the familiar scent of ozone and rain engulfs him. It’s his, the smell of lightning in a tempest, and it’s comforting. But for some reason he doesn’t relax, can’t, because there’s also an underlying smell, and his senses scream intruder yet he knows that he’s wrong.

Inhaling deeply, the first thing Kakashi registers is warmth. Heat, warm and smooth, and there’s salt in the air. _The sea_ , vast and blue, and the knowledge sinks into him, washes over muscles and tendons and down into his bones.

It’s too much, too sweet and too close, and he realizes that the smell is clinging to him, to his clothes and his skin. Suffocating but not in a bad way, but it’s overwhelming and panic makes his chest tighten with pain. So he pulls down his mask, up and over his head, since he doesn’t think he can handle it pooling around his neck as usual. He also shrugs off his flak jacket, letting it drop onto the floor along with his mask.

The scent becomes fainter. Kakashi breathes, pants, and resists the urge to press his nose against his flak jacket that reeks of marine air. The beast inside him howls, whispers into his ear, and deep-buried instincts resurface with the tide of his chakra.

Kakashi grits his teeth and tries to push it down, to reign it in, but the beast fights him like it has never done before. It whines, high-pitched and pained, and its claws dig into him and refuse to let go. His headache comes back with a vengeance and his spine twinges.

It’s in his blood. The need to fight, to chase and kill and claim, but it’s never been so strong before. He recalls a distant memory of Sakumo, who pulled him away once during a full moon and pointed to the sky. Who murmured secrets into the night, tales of old gods and divine beasts, of clans and the origin of bloodlines. He believed them, as improbable as they sounded, because Kakashi knows himself, because he has heard the echo of the beast for as long as he can remember.

The Hatake clan is all but dead, its name forgotten and lost to the devastation of time and endless wars. They’ve always been small, one family, one pack. All sisters and brothers and their children, descendants of storms and kin to wolves. Now, it’s down to him and his dogs, the last to carry on the legacy of his clan, but it doesn’t change the fact that his blood sings in his veins and lightning crackles at his fingertips.

Kakashi won’t win. The beast is close to the surface, waiting to burst out. It isn’t the monster, not when it’s a feeling so beautiful it takes his breath away, but it’s uncontrollable, and Kakashi can’t afford to lose control inside the village.

All it takes is a few hand signs, shaky and rough with the edge of unnaturally sharp nails, and Kakashi disappears from his bedroom. He reappears in front of the fence of Training Ground 44. The forest greets him like an old friend, the woods still laced with the potent chakra of the First Hokage, and he purrs at the scent of damp earth and rain mixed with old power.

Kakashi leaps over the metal fence and vanishes into the undergrowth in the blink of an eye.

Over Konoha, the skies darken with the first signs of a violent summer storm.

* * *

 

Izumo crashes into his living room and narrowly dodges the kunai aimed at his head by flattening himself to the floor with a startled yelp. Kotetsu follows suit at a more sedated pace, expression entirely resigned.

Iruka blinks at them, raises an eyebrow, then lets his head drop to the table with a groan. He should never have given them his key.

Izumo peels himself off the floor and immediately throws himself at Iruka. He is stopped at the last moment by Kotetsu, who grabs him by the collar and yanks him backward. Izumo looks at his friend with a pout, and Kotetsu rolls his eyes at him.

“Iruka! We heard that something happened at the mission room, are you alright?” Izumo yells into his ear. Iruka winces and scoots a little to the side.

Kotetsu shoots him an apologetic look and tightens his grip on Izumo’s shirt.

“We heard from Namiashi that there was a fight and that you were involved. We came as soon as our shift at the gates ended.”

“And Raidou said that it was a Jonin, Makatsu or something, and that Hatake had to intervene, and – oh my god, Iruka, are you dying?”

Said Chunin brings up his arms and hides his face with his hands, careful to not knock over his cup of tea even though it has already gone cold. “I wish I am.”

Kotetsu makes a concerned noise. “What happened?”

“Don’t worry, Iruka, we’ll go kick that Makatsu’s ass for you! I’m sure that Kotetsu and I can take him, and I’ll probably be able to convince Aoba, and Genma loves you so he’ll help too, and Raidou follows Genma wherever he goes, so we’ll be fine! We’ll avenge you! Right, Ko?”

“Don’t drag me into your mad schemes, ‘Zumo.”

“Matsuoka,” Iruka says.

“What?”

“His name. Matsuoka.”

Kotetsu hums. “Haven’t heard of him before. Still, Raidou didn’t tell us much, and he said that we should ask you for more details. And we’re curious. Did you lose your temper again?”

Iruka muffles another groan with his palms. “Worse. I lost my temper, sassed the Jonin, the Jonin lost his temper, and I _sassed him again_. He got mad, attacked me, and Hatake-san had to step in.”

Someone snickers. It sounds like Izumo. “And it’s only your first day.”

“Please don’t remind me.” He already feels miserable enough as it is.

A heavy arm drapes over his shoulders. Iruka turns his head a little and spots straight, dark brown hair. Izumo, then. “Well, it’s not necessarily a bad thing. At least now the Jonins know that you can stand up for yourself.”

“But I didn’t fight back. I could have, and I should have, but I was caught off guard,” Iruka replies woefully.

Kotetsu places a comforting hand on his arm. “It doesn’t matter. You called him out on his bullshit, and that’s more than any other Chunin who works at the mission desk can claim. Plus, as Izumo said, it’s only your first day. You have all the time in the world to show them what you’re really made of.”

“I just wanted to make a good impression.”

Izumo laughs. “Well, you definitely made an impression.”

“Shut up. I hate you.”

What Kotetsu said makes an annoying amount of sense. The knot in his stomach eases. It’s reassuring to know that he didn’t mess up as badly as he thought. But Iruka is also angry. It stings to know that Jonins are so used to looking down on Chunins, so used to being put on a pedestal, that they can bear to attack a comrade when they dare to talk back to them.

But not all of them are so bad. He did see from the corner of his eye a handful of Jonins reach for their weapons, and he’s sure that if Hatake Kakashi hadn’t stopped Matsuoka, someone else would have. But they wouldn’t have been as fast, as intimidating, and probably wouldn’t have reached him in time, and for that Iruka is eternally grateful to Hatake for his help.

Iruka isn’t stupid. He’s heard the rumors, of the man being a cold-blooded killer. Extremely efficient to the point of being terrifying. Many Chunins fear him for doing what they don’t have the skills nor the guts to do, and Iruka can certainly understand the sentiment. But he can also read between the lines, and he can’t help but wonder. If all Jonins have a few screws loose, just how broken is Kakashi, who is lauded as a genius among professional murderers? Because the man looked tired, old in the way retired shinobis are, threadbare and worn and just on the edge of tearing.

Iruka thinks back on the events of the day, and he distinctively remembers Kakashi, tall and imposing, who seemed so distant at first but who turned out to be surprisingly kind. Kakashi who looked at him with something akin to marvel in his eyes, soft but sharp with barely concealed viciousness. Kakashi who became Jonin when Iruka graduated the Academy, who lost his entire Genin team and more in the name of the village.

Kakashi, whom he didn’t have the presence of mind to thank.

 _Fuck_ , Iruka curses. The Jonin had all but ran away after the confrontation, and Iruka could have stopped him, delayed him for only a second, taken the time to say _thank you for saving me_. But he didn’t, haven’t even thought of it, and now it’s too late because it’s raining cats and dogs and Kakashi is untraceable when he doesn’t want to be found. Genma has complained enough about that fact as it is, and even though the frustration is second-handed Iruka knows exactly how exasperating the silver-haired shinobi can be.

He is forcefully pulled from his musings when Izumo hooks his arm around his neck, choking him just a little.

“Izumo, wha-”

“Don’t be such a worrywart, Iruka! I’m sure everything will be fine. You’re our little spitfire after all!”

Kotetsu snorts but doesn’t correct him, which essentially means that he agrees. Iruka rolls his eyes at both of them, eliciting twin peals of laughter.

“Fine, fine, I got it. You can stop worrying about me. Now scram, I have things to do and I’m not going to entertain you all day.”

A pout and big puppy eyes are his answer. “But, Iruka, it’s raining outside and we’re going to get _wet_ ,” Izumo whines.

“You managed to get here just fine. It’s not as if I invited you. You can leave by yourself too.”

“But, _Iruukkkaaaa_!”

Fortunately, Kotetsu hasn’t relinquished his grip on Izumo’s clothes, so he drags him back forcefully by the collar. “Sorry to bother you, Iruka. I’ll see that this idiot gets home safe.”

He pats him on the shoulder one last time as goodbyes and exit through his front door, pulling a protesting Izumo with him. He hears the door lock behind them, which is perfect because Iruka really doesn’t want to move.

Honestly, if Iruka didn’t love them like his brothers, he would have strangled them long ago. Kotetsu might be the most reasonable one, but he’s glued at the hip to Izumo for a very good reason.

He leans on his chair and stretches, his hands above his head. His back cracks at several places, alleviating some of the tension in his shoulders. Something that sounds suspiciously like paper crinkles. Startled, Iruka rummages through his pockets until he pulls out a crumpled mess of papers. When he straightens them out on his table, the first thing he sees is Kakashi’s name.

It’s his mission report, Iruka realizes. He’s completely forgotten about it, too busy being confused over the man’s actions and still a bit dazed after being attacked. He could wait until tomorrow morning to file it properly. In fact, that’s what he would’ve done, but this is Kakashi, and this is as good a chance as any. Curious, Iruka starts reading through the report.

Kakashi’s handwriting is atrocious, which is wholly unexpected. It’s small and cramped as if he made a conscious effort to squeeze in as many words on one line as he could, but at least the characters are legible. The ink has smudged a little along the folds in the paper. He must have folded everything when the ink hasn’t dried completely. Other than neatness, the rest is actually pretty good. Almost better than the examples he gives at the Academy, which is exceptional, really, because Iruka is famous among his colleagues for being meticulous to a fault.

But Iruka is a ninja, a trap specialist and a prankster at heart, so he can recognize deceit better than most, and Kakashi is hiding something. The sentences are short and straight to the point, but sometimes they seem to be cut short as if some details were left out. It is sloppy, and definitely not as subtle as a ninja of Kakashi’s caliber is capable of being.

Something must have happened, and that’s… mildly concerning. Iruka doesn’t even know the man, has barely spoken to him, but Kakashi looks like he’s the type of person who’d forget to eat and sleep if no one reminded him to do so, and Iruka has always had a bleeding heart.

The report isn’t the worst one he’s ever seen, but it’s not as good as it could be. Iruka would have let it pass considering the circumstances, but it’s his first day on the job, and he must set a good example if he wants Konoha’s Jonins to start listening to him.

Going after one of the strongest shinobi in the village after the Hokage isn’t one of his brightest ideas, but Iruka has been able to outrun ANBUs since he was thirteen. He’ll manage to make it work.

He takes a deep breath, unties his hair, pushes his cold tea away, and quietly starts scheming.

Hatake Kakashi is a hard man to find, but Iruka is nothing if determined.

* * *

 

The storms last for a whole week.

Everything is humid and cold and downright miserable. There’s one hour of reprieve at the most between each downpour, and after the first two days, no one bothers to even come out anymore. Shinobis have resorted to taking to the rooftops each time they must to go somewhere, the streets below too muddy and wet for their sandals.

This kind of weather hasn’t been seen in Konoha for at least a decade. Fire country is prone to a mild climate, its summers hot and dry and its snowfalls rare. The only distinction between summer and autumn is the amount of rain the country receives, and even then, storms tend to be over after one day.

The past week has been violent, both to Konoha’s economy and its citizens’ morale. Missions have steadily slowed down to a halt, and for shinobi who are used to being constantly on the move, this sudden bout of peace is torture. Even civilians are beginning to go stir-crazy.

Iruka spends this time hanging out with his friends. The mission room is practically deserted, and the Academy is closed, so he finds himself with practically nothing to do. All his friends are in the same situation, except Izumo and Kotetsu, who are stuck on guard duty in this hellish weather. At least they have a little hut to hide in and each other to keep themselves company.

Bored shinobi usually have two ways to release their pent-up energy. Since the training grounds are currently a mess of puddles and sticky mud, almost everyone resorted to spending their days in the few shinobi bars in the village. Iruka is no exception. He doesn’t drink much, partly because he doesn’t feel the urge to and mostly because it’s funnier to watch his comrades get absolutely shit-faced. He isn’t above collecting blackmail material at his friends’ expense, and in the last week, he’s accumulated so much of it he can probably convince them to jump off a cliff if he wished to.

He also managed to overhear bits and pieces about the mystery that is Hatake Kakashi. If alcohol was involved more often than not, well, a bit of bribing never hurt anyone. However, after going through all the Chunins he’s ever met and some of the Jonins who were friendly enough and willing to answer his questions, he still knows startlingly little about the man. Outside of his name, his age, and his rank, Iruka is now acquainted with the names of Kakashi’s very few friends, as well as his tendency to be perpetually late and his preference for reading porn in public, information that can be found either by reading his file or by doing some minimal amount of snooping.

It’s decidedly frustrating, but Iruka has expected as much since the very start. It’s also an interesting challenge, one he’s not going to back down from anytime soon.

However, this means that he will get nowhere unless he breaks into some very forbidden archives or if he talks to the man himself, and he can’t decide which one is harder to do.

That’s how he finds himself lingering at the edges of Training Ground 3 the first morning where it doesn’t rain. He has already circled the clearing twice and is completing his third round when a small bob of silver appears between the trees.

Surprisingly, Kakashi doesn’t approach from the direction of the village. Instead, he comes out from the forest, disappearing behind thick tree trunks and dense foliage for minutes at a time before resurfacing. Iruka waits for him with baited breath.

The silver-haired shinobi looks bedraggled, he notices with a jolt as he grows nearer. There’s a tired slump to his shoulders, not quite defeated but world-weary, and his gravity-defying hair is more disheveled than it usually is, damp and sticking close to his skull. He appears as if he hasn’t slept in days. If he didn’t know better, Iruka would say that the Jonin recently came back from a battle. Coupled with the fact that no one has seen him for the last week, it paints a rather improbable picture.

Iruka isn’t crazy enough to believe that Kakashi has been out in the rain, camping in the forest for the entire duration of the storms, but there is no other logical explanation to why the older ninja seems to have wrestled with a bear and went back for an encore.

He quietly clambers up into a tree and clamps down on his chakra as soon as Kakashi reaches the tree line. He waits for him to approach, and just as Genma told him, the Hatake makes a beeline for the memorial stone. Iruka would like to observe him, but he still turns around. Kakashi’s morning habits are quite famous by now, and Iruka has done enough research to know that he has never invited someone along. The Jonin obviously values his privacy, and Iruka can respect that at the very least.

He is fully prepared to stay where he is for the next few hours, but Kakashi only remains crouched in front of the memorial for approximately an hour and a half. Iruka shifts so that he can look at the man as soon as he hears him stand up, and he almost falls from his perch when Kakashi stares right back at him.

It shouldn’t be surprising since Kakashi is rumored to be the best tracker in town, better than even the Inuzuka with their ninkens, but Iruka didn’t think that he would be so blatant about it. He flushes a little, embarrassed that the Jonin has been aware of his presence since the beginning despite his efforts. There’s no use in hiding now, so Iruka jumps down from the branch and lands in a crouch. The earth is still damp, sticking to his fingers. He wipes them off on his pants.

Kakashi politely waits until he’s in hearing distance before raising his hand in an unspoken acknowledgment. Iruka waves awkwardly, and Kakashi answers him with his signature eye smile.

“Hatake-san,” he greets.

“Maa, Iruka-san, it’s rare to see you this early.”

“Well, let’s just say that I have unfinished business here.”

Kakashi blinks innocently, his gaze sharp. “And I suppose this business has something to do with me?” He asks, head tilting a little to the left.

Iruka’s eyes are drawn to a tear on the high collar of his turtleneck. He has to make an effort to drag them back to the man’s face. “In fact, yes. It’s about the events of last week.”

“And what happened last week?”

Iruka almost gives him an eye roll before remembering that he’s talking to _Hatake Kakashi_. His fingers tremble a little. “Ahh, well, the… thing that happened at the mission desk, with Matsuoka-san. Things were a bit chaotic, and I wasn’t in my right mind, so I completely forgot, and I know, it’s inexcusable and definitely rude but I couldn’t find you all week and – and. And I’m rambling, aren’t I?” He cuts himself off before he can carry on, then takes a deep breath and tells himself to calm down before he digs himself into a deeper hole.

The Jonin only looks at him and blinks. Iruka isn’t familiar with him well enough to accurately gauge his expressions, but judging from the portion of his face that remains visible, Kakashi is _laughing_ at him. Iruka can feel his cheeks burning, and it’s a bit humiliating.

“Well, I guess I just wanted to say that, that is, I wanted to ask you, um…” He knows that he’s babbling, and Iruka absolutely _hates it_.

“Yes?”

I just –” he inhales, “wouldyougotodinnerwithmeplease?”

At this point, his blush has extended to his neck, and his face is absolutely flaming. He can almost see the heat radiating from his skin. That wasn’t a sentence, and nowhere near comprehensible, and Kakashi is staring at him with this _look_ and he knows that the Jonin is entirely baffled at his behavior.

God, he almost sounds like a schoolgirl with a crush, and this is only the second time he’s talking to Kakashi face to face.

This meeting is really going horribly, and he can’t blame anyone but himself.

“Sorry, just, let me repeat that. Would you please go to dinner with me? As thanks, I mean, for stepping in last time. It’s the least I can do.”

Kakashi is still directing an unreadable look at him. With only one eye, the blatant staring a bit unnerving, but Iruka braves the attention and stares right back.

After a full minute, the Jonin closes his eye, and Iruka is already tensing, preparing to chase after him if the man decides to turn around and run.

But Kakashi only eye smiles again and offers a simple nod.

Iruka balks for a few seconds. He exhales, the tension in his muscles bleeding out. His shoulders drop as he relaxes.

“Alright, then. Would tonight be acceptable?”

The silver-haired shinobi nods. “At six? We can meet in front of the Hokage Tower. We’ll decide where to go then.”

Iruka smiles, relieved. “Six sounds good.”

Kakashi takes two steps back, sends him another quizzical look disguised as a friendly grin, and turns away.

“Well, a date it is, then.”

Iruka chokes on a gulp of air. Too stunned to even formulate a reply, he stares after Kakashi’s disappearing form until the man vanishes on the path leading to Konoha.

It’s only hours later when he’s home that he realizes that the Jonin managed once again to avoid from the issue at hand.

Damn. He’ll get Kakashi to re-write his report no matter what, he swears to himself as he changes out of his uniform and into more comfortable civilian clothing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow this devolved into politics. But it’s an excuse for Iruka and Kakashi to see each other more often, and Kakashi will need it. He’s too emotionally stunted at that age to approach anyone by himself in my opinion, so it makes sense. However, this also means that this story probably won’t be done anytime soon as I had first intended. Don’t worry though, I still have a month before I need to think about school again. I’ll finish it somehow between helping out at Matsuri and at Otakuthon.

At ten past six, his doorbell rings.

Iruka glances at his clock and grimaces. He’s running late again, having been too focused on grading the research papers his students handed in two weeks ago. He finishes reading the assignment he has on hand then deposits it on the stack of paper on the corner of his coffee table. He gets up from his conformable slouch on his couch and heads for his front door, grabbing his keys from the hook on the wall.

He unlocks the door and swings it open. Kakashi looms in the doorway, still dressed in his Jonin attire. The only change is that the small tears in his shirt have disappeared and his hair seems to have been half-heartedly wrestled into some semblance of order.

“Good evening, Iruka-san.”

Iruka grins sheepishly. “Sorry for being late, Hatake-san. I was busy grading my students’ homework and didn’t see the time pass.”

“Maa, it’s quite alright. Ten minutes is nothing to worry about,” he drawls lazily.

Personally, Iruka suspects he’s been waiting for far longer than that, but he doesn’t voice his opinion. Not bothering to question how Kakashi found his address, Iruka steps out of his apartment. Kakashi respectfully moves back to give him more space. With a casual graze of his fingers and a small quantity of chakra, he activates the invisible seals on the doorframe.

When he turns around, Kakashi is staring at him again, this time with appraisal.

“Shall we go, Hatake-san?”

“Kakashi is fine, Iruka-san,” he answers.

Iruka nods. “Likewise.” It’s only polite to extend the same courtesy. Kakashi smiles at him and waits for Iruka to reach the staircase before following.

“So, Iruka, do you have a place in mind?”

“Well, I was thinking about going to that new Yakiniku restaurant near the marketplace, if you are amenable. Kotetsu and Izumo said that their meat is pretty high quality.”

The Jonin hums. “The Chunins at the gate?”

“That would be them.”

Kakashi inclines his head. “Asuma recommended the same place to me.”

They go down the stairs and reach the street below. Iruka lives between the Hokage Tower and the hospital, so it’s a relatively short walk to the marketplace. Outside, the streets are packed with people, all eager to finally breathe some fresh air after having been cooped up in their homes for so long. Merchants are hollering at the crowd, their carts charged with produce, and Iruka makes a mental note to pick up some groceries on his way home. Children are constantly running underfoot, and he has to sidestep more than a few times to avoid crashing into one.

Despite being jostled, he stubbornly doesn’t take to the rooftops. It would be faster, but he isn’t in a rush, and the hustle and bustle all around him isn’t unpleasant. When he looks back, Kakashi is right behind him, Icha Icha held loosely in front of his face. Preparing himself to tell the man to stop reading pornographic novels in public because there are children present and because it is extremely improper, Iruka squares his shoulders and whirls around with a firm scowl in place. But before he can open his mouth, the Jonin peers over the orange cover and sends him a smile as if he knows exactly what Iruka was steeling himself to say.

Huffing, Iruka leaves him to his dirty habits. They stay silent the rest of the way, and it’s uncomfortable but not too awkward. Kakashi firmly stays two steps behind and a little to the left, and Iruka can swear he feels the older shinobi’s eyes on him, except that every time he catches a glimpse of Kakashi the man’s gaze is glued to his book, that infuriating smile still in place. The outline of his lips is a dark shadow on his mask, but even with that Iruka can’t quite place his expression.

At the restaurant, the woman at the front desk takes one look at them and leads them straight to a secluded booth at the back. Caught between a wall and sheer curtain, the booth is darkly lit, the table made of sturdy mahogany and the seats conveniently cushioned. The grill in the center of the table is clean but visibly well used. It’s simple but comfortable, and from the way Kakashi’s entire frame relaxes, he agrees.

The perks of being a well-known shinobi even among civilians, Iruka thinks, is that people are generally too afraid to intrude upon your privacy, and they’re too eager to avoid you to question anything you do. But that must also be terribly lonely, and for that Iruka doesn’t envy Kakashi one bit.

In front of him, Kakashi sits down on the chair closest to the corner and facing the curtain. Iruka does the same, making sure to pull his seat to the side a little so that Kakashi has an unimpeded view of the entrance. His act doesn’t go unnoticed, but the silver-haired shinobi doesn’t comment on it.

A waitress comes back with two menus and a pot of tea, as well as two cups. Iruka thanks her. She sets them down on the table and ducks out of the booth.

As soon as she leaves, he pours himself a cup of tea and takes a long sip. The hot liquid is pleasantly warm and the familiar fragrance calms his jittery nerves.

“Fond of tea?”

Iruka hides a snort in the rim of his cup. “You have no idea. At home, I have a pot of water constantly sitting on the stove just for brewing tea.” He takes another sip and sighs in satisfaction. “This is the good stuff, too. My coworkers at the Hokage Tower only drink coffee and I’m never going near that motor oil they brew even if you give me a foot-long stick to poke it with. The only person in the entire place who drinks decent tea is Hokage-sama.”

“You drink tea with the Hokage often, then?” Kakashi questions with a curious lilt to his voice.

“I wouldn’t say often, no. the Academy takes up the majority of my time, and now that I also have a few shifts at the mission desk, my schedule rarely matches up with the Hokage’s.” Iruka reaches for a menu and flips it open, browsing absentmindedly through the options. “But when we can, Sandaime-sama calls me to his office to… catch up, I guess. He’s the one who, well, looked out for me after my parents passed away.”

He keeps his eyes fixed on the menu even if he isn’t actually reading. It is still unpleasant to mention his parents’ death, but the pain has been easing as of late. He can feel Kakashi’s surprised gaze on him. After all, it is rare for the Hokage to personally care for an orphan, especially since there were so many of them after the Kyuubi's attack. Iruka wonders about it himself since he’s hardly special enough to warrant such attention, but he’s learned to not question it.

The moment is interrupted when the waitress comes back to take their orders. Kakashi asks for misuji and beef hatsu while Iruka orders whatever his finger landed on, which happens to be a mix of various seafood. Not a terrible choice, but Kakashi’s nose wrinkles a little. Iruka hesitates but ends up keeping his order. There’s no need to cater to the Jonin’s tastes, he will just have to be careful to stick to his side of the grill.

Kakashi must have seen something in his expression because he smiles and taps the side of his nose. Iruka stares, perplexed.

“My sense of smell is better than average,” he explains. “I don’t hate the taste of seafood, but raw, the scent can be a bit… overwhelming.”

“Oh,” Iruka mutters intelligently.

The matter is dropped when another server hurriedly comes back with a plate in each hand, piled high with meat and two bowls of sauce. Kakashi’s face is carefully blank as he sets down the plate of squid, shrimp, and shellfish on the table, but he brightens as soon as the waiter deposits his own order in front of him. The grill is already hot by then, so Kakashi doesn’t wait and picks up a slice of tender beef. The meat sizzles as soon as it touches the metal, and the delicious odor of cooking beef fills the air.

Following his example, Iruka starts grilling the contents of his own plate. The booth smells amazing by the time the first slice is ready to eat, and he watches with contained amusement as Kakashi hurriedly dips the beef into his _tare_. But the other man doesn’t bite into it. Instead, he shoots Iruka a pointed look, and it takes him a few seconds to understand the message. He turns his head and stares at a small dent in the wall above Kakashi’s silver mane.

When he glances at the Jonin, Kakashi has already finished chewing and is reaching for a second slice.

“You don’t have to look away each time, you know. Your food is starting to burn.”

Iruka jolts and looks down at his side of the grill. True enough, the squid is looking a bit brown along the edges, but it’s nothing unsalvageable. He quickly sets the cooked pieces onto a clean plate and starts eating. He resolutely keeps his eyes on his plate and doesn’t look up.

Admittedly, the food is pretty good. The dip is absolutely divine, salty and rich with a hint of sweetness, and the seafood is fresher than he expected. A third of Fire Country’s borders are delimited by the sea to the East, but Konohagakure is a solid five-day journey from the coast at civilian pace, which is plenty for even the best seafood to become a bit stale.

Kakashi, on the other hand, seems to be enjoying himself, if the rate at which his plate of raw meat is emptying is anything to go by. This is as good a time for starting a conversation as any, Iruka figures, and the silence is starting to bother him anyway.

“So, Kakashi, I’ve said it once before, but I’ll say it again properly this time.” The man pauses his chewing. Iruka fights down a blush at the attention. “Thank you for helping me out that time at the mission desk. It’s a bit embarrassing to say, but I have to admit say that I was too stunned to react properly to his attack, so Matsuoka-san would have injured me if you didn’t step in when you did.”

“Don’t worry about it, I just did what anyone would’ve done.”

Not technically true, but Iruka doesn’t argue the point. “Actually, there’s another reason why I asked you to come today.”

“Oh?” Kakashi asks.

“It’s about your report.” He takes a deep breath. “It’s, well. Honestly, it’s good. I would’ve filed if it were any other day, but as you must have heard the day the… incident happened was my first day at the mission desk. The situation there is not good. To be frank, Kakashi, it’s horrible. No offense, but the Jonins’ behavior is outrageous, and the Chunins are entirely too resigned and let too much slide without any protest. Badly written reports are a headache and a half to file on the best of days. More importantly, if there ever is an issue with a mission, the first thing we look at is the mission report. You can imagine how well that would go with the quality of the reports nowadays.” He sighs. he would explain more in details the consequences of such an event, but Kakashi is more than smart enough to figure that out by himself.

“I’m actually surprised that nothing catastrophic has happened to the village yet. But that’s not the core of the problem.”

Kakashi’s back is straight, stretching out of his casual slouch. The man is looking at him with undivided curiosity, his visible eye slanted with thoughtfulness. Taking it as a sign to continue, Iruka carries on with his small rant. “As you know, the administration at the Tower is almost entirely composed of Chunins. Most of us are on a rotation for missions, which means that we are off the active roster for a few months at a time. Some Chunins, especially those who occupy important positions in the village, choose to not take missions outside of Konoha so that they could be recalled easily should anything happen.” He pauses to drink some tea and organize his thoughts. Kakashi waits obligingly, wanting to see where this would lead to.

“Unfortunately, some Jonins use this as an excuse to look down on Chunins. I am aware that skill-wise Jonins are far superior. However, I find it insulting and extremely inappropriate of them to belittle those who hold a lower rank. Chunins are just as essential to the village as Jonins. While higher ranked shinobi take on better paid and often more dangerous missions, it is the Chunins who keep the village running in their absence. As such, we deserve at least the same amount of respect Jonins would give to their peers. In fact, we _are_ their peers. We’re all Konoha shinobi in the end, aren’t we?”

Kakashi nods. “Well said, Iruka. I do agree that the Jonins’ mentality towards Chunins leaves some things to be desired, and Matsuoka-san’s shameful display last week is a perfect, if slightly exaggerated, example of it. However, I fail to see how this relates to my report.”

“Yes, well, about that.” Taking the time to finish his cooling tea, Iruka sets the cup down on the table with a dull clank. “I first accepted Hokage-sama’s request to work at the mission desk with the intention to change things a little. As such, I wanted to make an impression on my first day in order to encourage Jonins to take mission reports more seriously. Matsuoka-san was supposed to be my chance to do just that, but things didn’t turn out the way I wished. Nonetheless, I haven’t changed my mind. This means that I still have to set some sort of example. In other words, I need to set the base for a newer, better standard, and I need someone to help me do it.”

He didn’t exactly plan to say all that, but the episode with Matsuoka showed him just how hard his self-assigned mission is going to be, and he will need all the help he can get. Kakashi isn’t his first choice, but the man seems agreeable enough, and Iruka automatically jumped on the opportunity. Call him opportunistic, but there’s no time like the present, as his mother would’ve said.

The sound of water pulls him out of his inner musing. Kakashi is pouring himself some tea, and Iruka thanks him when the man reaches for his cup to refill it.

“So, you mean for me to be your guinea pig.”

The phrasing is startling, a bit too blunt for his own tastes, but not untrue. “Well, I wouldn’t necessarily put it that way. I would just like your cooperation in showing exactly what is expected of them from now on.” The _what the Hokage expects of them_ is implied, and Kakashi nods.

“Why not?”

Iruka blinks. “I’m – I’m sorry?”

Kakashi’s eye curves into a small crescent. “Well, I have nothing better to do, and your idea sounds like a worthy endeavor. So, Why not?”

He honestly didn’t think the Jonin would agree so easily. But again, he slipped in enough insinuations that it sounds like a request from the Hokage, which isn’t a lie. The Sandaime did mean for him to establish some order in the mission room, just nothing this drastic, and certainly not this direct.

The Hokage didn’t intend for him to go around changing the attitude of the entire Jonin population, but what the Hokage doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and this will be beneficial to the village in the long run.

“So, what exactly do you need me to do?”

“Well, for starters, how about you rewrite that report? You don’t need to change the content much, but I would appreciate it if it is neater. I have a shift at the mission desk tomorrow morning, so you could hand it in then,” Iruka suggests.

“That’s reasonable. I’ll come around nine.”

“Alright.”

“Well, then. I have something to do now so I can’t stay, but it was nice talking to you, Iruka.”

With that, the older man stands up. “Shall we leave?”

“Ah, well, I’ll stay a little longer.” There’s some tea left in the pot, and Iruka’s brain is still trying to wrap itself around the fact that he just dragged _Hatake Kakashi_ into his little half-planned scheme.

“Enjoy your evening, then.” He turns and pulls the curtain to the side. Right before he leaves, Iruka clears his throat. “Thank you, Kakashi,” he manages. The man nods.

“See you tomorrow.” And he’s gone.

Iruka stays in the booth for another fifteen minutes, polishes off the last of the tea, now lukewarm and bitter. When he gathers his wits enough to go to the counter, fully prepared to pay for both of them, the cashier informs him that the bill has already been paid in full.

Well then. It seems like he owes Kakashi another favor.

* * *

As promised, Iruka shows up at the mission room at seven thirty, a full half an hour before his shift starts. The lone Chunin at the desk shoots him a puzzled glance but doesn’t protest as Iruka settles down on the chair next to his. To pass the time, he pulls out the remaining papers he needs to grade for the Academy. He will hand them back to his students the next morning, which is a Monday.

After that, he moves on to planning his classes for the next few weeks. He’s currently in charge of the graduating group since their previous teacher is on maternity leave. He is also an assistant teacher for one of the younger groups, though he’s expected to take over for that teacher as well next year. Currently, he mostly helps out with weapon and taijutsu training, and those classes don’t really need any sort of preparation beforehand.

By the time his shift starts, he has the lesson plans for the rest of the school year ready. It’s not as if there is much left to do; it’s summer already and vacations start in approximately two months. At exactly eight o’clock, the other Chunin packs up silently and leaves without as much as a goodbye. Iruka doesn’t begrudge him his rudeness, as morning shifts are undoubtedly the worse. Not many people come in this early, but those who do tend to be high-ranking shinobi who just returned from B-ranks and A-ranks, and they’re usually all running on fumes and high-strung from the stress of the mission.

Dealing with half-dead, exhausted and grumpy Jonins isn’t exactly anyone’s definition of fun.

Over the next hour, Iruka organizes, classifies and hands out mission scrolls, and files the occasional report. Usually, there are at least two Chunins who split the tasks between them, but with so few people he hardly needs the help. He occasionally takes some time to chat with a few people he recognizes, and a Genin team waves him goodbye as they pick up their D-rank. Their Jonin-sensei isn’t someone he knows personally, but they still exchange polite smiles. All in all, everything goes smoothly, and before he realizes the clock indicates that it’s already nine o’clock.

Iruka puts down his pen, inhales, and starts reciting the speech he prepared last night in his head. He has a vague idea of how his conversation with Kakashi will go, and he hopes that the man will play along. There’s a seed of panic at the back of his mind, but he doesn’t let it grow. He doesn’t even have time to dwell on it, because at the same moment a rattled-looking Jonin bursts into the room, followed by a giant brown-furred dog.

As it turns out, the Inuzuka kunoichi is here to pick up her next mission despite only having been in the village for the past ten hours. It’s barely enough time to wind down from the adrenaline rush, and the mauve tint of her eyebags indicate she hasn’t slept at all last night. Iruka spares a brief second to feel pity for her, but doesn’t hesitate as he gives her the scroll containing the details of her mission. It’s a B-rank near the borders of Fire Country by the looks of it, though not urgent. At least she’ll have time to rest of the way there if she travels at a light pace.

Her arrival heralds the start of the first rush of the day. Nine to ten is when most Genin teams come to obtain their mission of the day. Chunins prefer to hand in their reports around noon. Many of them have administrative positions within the village and it’s more convenient to come to the Tower during their lunch break. Jonins have a more unpredictable schedule, but they have a tendency to sleep late into the afternoon if they can, so Iruka isn’t expecting to see many of them until then.

In hindsight, it would probably be better for Kakashi to arrive in the evening since they’re targeting Jonins, but Iruka doesn’t exactly wish to repeat the disaster that was his last attempt, so starting things off gently isn’t a bad decision. Words will spread quickly enough anyway.

But the clock keeps ticking, and Iruka only grows more irritated as each minute pass. Kakashi is late, and if there’s one thing Iruka hates, it’s being unpunctual. Two hours later, his temper is positively on the brink of exploding. It’s only through sheer stubbornness that he keeps from snapping at a particularly bratty, newly-minted Chunin. He spots a pair of Jonins who are waiting in line watching him with badly concealed amusement, and it is pure luck that the door swings open at the exact same time he’s about to redirect his anger at them.

Kakashi casually walks into the room, one hand clutching Icha Icha and the other planted into his pant pocket. His nonchalance only infuriates Iruka more. He’s entirely ready to throw his paperweight into the Jonin’s face when the silver-haired shinobi saunters up to his desk, bypassing the entire line of ninjas patiently waiting for their turn, and shoves a clean, unwrinkled, perfectly impeccable report at him.

Iruka swears he feels a vein pop on his forehead.

“Kakashi-san, please go to the end of the line. There are currently six people behind you who got here before you did. I will file your report when it’s your turn.” He grits his teeth and forces out his most threatening smile. Really, it's a miracle that he hasn’t exploded yet.

“Maaa,” the Hatake begins, scratching his masked chin with a finger self-consciously, “I figured that I’m already late enough, and that you would appreciate it if I didn’t make you wait another fifteen minutes just because of a line.”

“Kakashi-san, you being late is your own fault, and I’m sure the people who actually got here on time would appreciate it if you don’t make _them_ late by doing such things as, let’s say, _skipping the line_. But I’m sure you wouldn’t do that, would you? We all have a busy schedule, after all, and we have better things to do than waiting after someone who _doesn’t respect the rules_.”

Apparently, that last sentence was effective, because Kakashi winces and nods, oddly subdued. He obediently heads back to the end of the line and stays there. Iruka sighs, relieved that they didn’t cause too big of a scene. The next Jonin walks up to his desk, considerably more wary than before, and asks for a C-rank. Iruka picks a standard protection detail mission to guard a merchant family traveling to the next town. Strangely, the Jonin throws him an analytical glance before leaving.

The next few shinobis all give him the same treatment. Iruka is a bit puzzled, but the calm allows his temper to fizzle out a little until he can pretend to be back to his usual self. Even then, he has to suck in a calming breath and convince his heart to stop thumping in his chest when Kakashi shows up again before him.

“Iruka-san.”

“Ah, Kakashi-san. I apologize for earlier, I overreacted a little,” he starts, sheepishness slipping into his tone.

“Don’t worry about it, it was my fault as well.”

Iruka accepts the apology gracefully. “You have a report to hand it?”

Kakashi nods and gives him the small stack of paper. Iruka makes a show of sifting through each page, humming appreciatively at some sections. The mission report is decidedly longer than the last version, written with a steady hand, the script inelegant but legible. Iruka is grudgingly impressed.

He beams at the Jonin. “This is impressive work, Kakashi-san.”

“Well, I did have a whole week to complete it.” Iruka knows that he really only had one night, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut. However, it does serve to improve his opinion of the older shinobi, because this couldn’t have taken him less than two hours to churn out and he understands through experience just how tedious writing a report can be.

“Thank you for your dedication, I will file it as soon as I can. Is this anything else I can help you with?”

Kakashi seems to ponder his question for a few moments. “Well, yes, actually. I was wondering if you could join me for dinner again sometime? I enjoyed our talk last time. It was… enlightening.”

It takes him a whole thirty seconds to shake off the surprise, and another ten to come up with an appropriate answer. His silence doesn’t deter the Jonin, but it definitely makes things awkward. It’s a small comfort that the rest of the room seems just as baffled as he is.

“I… wouldn’t be opposed. That is to say, I did enjoy our conversation as well, and I would certainly like to talk about certain… topics in depth again.” He swallows, feeling his cheeks heat up because of his nervousness. “I… would this weekend be alright?”

God, he is glad he didn’t stutter, but his wavering speech is almost as bad. He distantly hears furious whispers break out somewhere in the back of the room, but he is too focused on the man before him to concentrate on anything else.

“Right, then, we’ll talk later,” Kakashi states, but his voice lifts just enough to make it sound like an inquiry.

“…Alright,” Iruka agrees, because that’s the only reply he can come up with.

With a final farewell, Kakashi performs a shunshin and disappears from the mission room, leaving behind a shaken Chunin and some very bemused shinobis.

* * *

 

The rest of his shift passes in a daze. Before he knows it, noon comes and goes, and a pair of Chunins arrive to replace him. Iruka gathers his belongings, shoves them uncaringly into his bag, and hurries out of the Tower.

Once outside, he straightens his ponytail and heads for his favorite tea shop. He only ate some left-over rice in the morning, so his stomach is starting to grumble in hunger. Fortunately, the tea shop is a relatively short distance from the Tower, so it only takes him ten minutes or so to walk there.

Rakugetsu’s is a small, quiet place, with only a few tables inside and long benches to sit on. The interior is all beige walls and dark wood, and the smell of freshly brewed tea and sweets hit him the instant he enters the shop. He stops for a second to breathe in the scent, then sits down on one of the empty seats. The owner, standing behind the counter, greets him and immediately brings him his usual order.

He’s craving sugar today, and this place really has the best wagashi in town, so he also asks for some kinako mochi beside his plate of dango. The tea takes a bit longer to brew. Genmaicha, while not especially expensive, is one of his favorites because of its rich, nutty flavor. He starts nibbling on a dango stick as he waits for his tea.

It’s a hot day. The sun is high in the sky, and the full summer heat is starting to beat down on Konoha. Even here, inside the shop where there are plenty of shades, he’s sweating a little under his flak jacket. Fortunately, he’s a bit more resistant to high temperatures than many others. He’s still dressed in his favorite turtleneck, albeit he has rolled up the sleeves, but most of his friends have long abandoned their standard uniforms for lighter, breathable clothing.

Even drinking piping hot tea in this weather isn’t enough to bother him. He has long since gotten used to the burn in his throat, and though the sweating is becoming uncomfortable the familiar taste on his tongue and the warmth in his stomach makes it more than bearable.

But even as he’s indulging himself with the sweets, his mind refuses to let him relax. Iruka, despite being a shinobi, is a creature of habit. He likes his fixed schedules and planned days because he’s so busy it just makes sense to stick to a strict timetable. Training early in the morning, then the Academy or the mission room depending on which shifts he has to cover, then some grading, and he would finish the day either at home with a pot of tea and a good book, or with his friends when they decide to barge into his apartment.

He doesn’t make a habit of changing his schedule. The only exceptions he allows are missions because they are necessary and part of his job description, and though he doesn’t necessarily dislike surprises, they can be quite irritating to deal with and tend to throw him off balance.

So Iruka isn’t sure if he should be angry or thankful that Kakashi just waltzed into his life without a care and ended up disrupting all his plans. It is a refreshing change, to have a Jonin being so friendly to him, and it’s relieving to talk to someone who isn’t bouncing all over the place at any time. Izumo and Kotetsu are like his brothers, but they’re also annoying troublemakers who have never learned when to shut up, and Genma is quieter but also can’t be trusted with any secret. Raidou is much better, but he and Genma might as well be married no matter what they claim, so he can’t hang out with him without the senbon user lurking in the background.

Kakashi is… well. Unusual, a bit off-kilter the same way most active shinobi are, with a deep-buried sadness in him, the pain sunk so deep his entire being speaks of lassitude and scarred wounds, but he isn’t bad. A good man, and Iruka hasn’t interacted with him enough to really understand him but he has the feeling that Kakashi is loyal to a fault, to Konoha, yes, but to his comrades first and foremost.

There’s a spark in him. Something between pride and duty and old heartache, holding love at arm’s length and two steps removed from breaking. _The Will of Fire_ , Iruka thinks, but it’s fragile. And it’s startling, to think of Sharingan no Kakashi in such terms, but unsettlingly true. He didn’t know how to react at first, caught between wariness and curiosity, but Genma trusts this man, and Iruka trusts Genma’s decision. So he pushed his doubts to the side, and it’s probably one of the best decisions he’s ever made.

But Kakashi is also frustratingly confusing. They aren’t friends, not after having met barely a week and a half ago, but they are on good terms. Sometimes it feels like Kakashi wants to be more, to extend his friendship and everything it entails, and Iruka would gladly accept, but the man always pulls back at the last moment. Almost as if he’s afraid, and Iruka just doesn’t know how to respond to that.

Kakashi is a mystery, a man shrouded by rumors and tales and famous through half-whispered stories. Everyone has heard of Hatake Kakashi, cold-blooded, friend-killer Kakashi, with lightning on his arm and the chirping of a thousand birds behind him. But no one knows _Kakashi_ , not even Genma who remembers Kakashi as a Genin, and Iruka can’t even imagine how sad it must be, to defend a village in which you have no ties, to call it home when only the dead wait for you to come back.

So Iruka wonders, at him and his past, at how he hasn’t broken yet and what happened to reduce to hiding himself away. It is taboo for shinobis to ask after each other’s experiences. You never know what monsters you may unearth that way, but Iruka _wants_ , in a way he hasn’t in a long time.

He'll just have to wait for Kakashi to tell him then. It might take months, even years, but he wouldn’t mind waiting. Not if it’s for someone like him.


End file.
